


Beep

by Goddess_Under_The_Cupboard



Category: Political RPF, Political RPF - Russian 21st c.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-29 23:51:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10864701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goddess_Under_The_Cupboard/pseuds/Goddess_Under_The_Cupboard
Summary: Would he get a reply? He would not get his hopes up.





	Beep

**Author's Note:**

> The translation of Dmitry Medvedev's poem came from tumblr user: tupaya-devushka.

"Stupid." Dmitry Medvedev muttered to himself; his right hand was shaking as he gripped his IPhone tightly.

His heart was beating louder and louder as the other line continues to ring. The owner of the number might not even answer his call. He's not disappointed; he knew that the man he was calling will never answer.

_He did not listen to his pleas when he begged him to stay a year ago._

'You've reached the inbox of Vladislav Yurevich. Please leave a message after the beep.' the annoying voice that he had come to love washed over him and it was enough for him to be elated and eased his tension for a bit; a silly reaction over a voice mail.

***beep***

He moved the phone in front of his face and his thumb was hovering to the end button. He took a deep breath and decided to leave a message. _Hopefully, the man would listen to it._

"It's been a year since you left. I want to greet you a happy new year but I bet you were unhappy as I am, after all Volodya decided to be the Grinch and stole the holiday from us."

_'What the hell are you saying?'_ a mental image of himself appeared on his imagination and it started to beat itself up due to his inane babbling.

"Anyway," he continued after the heavy pause. "I am confused that you decided to resign as the chairman of the board of members of Skolkovo. You told me that it was the pinnacle of your legacy. Do you abhor working with me?" his voice was cracking and he could feel tears welling up in his eyes. He cleared his throat and he picked up the solely sheet of paper that was lying on his desk.

"I would like to apologize if I didn't write a proper poem when you taught me how to write. You might have seen this or not. I do not know if you are using the internet or if you are aware of what happened four months ago; hackers had a field day with my e-mails. You were right; I should have erased my e-mails regarding my purchases. I bet the world is laughing at the clothes that I bought." He cannot understand why he was being self-deprecating in a supposed to be festive holiday. A new year should be greeted with hope, not with despair and self-loathing. He chuckled and it sounded pitiful; a demented chuckle that came from a person on their breaking point.

Taking another deep breath, he closed his eyes and started to clear his mind in order to focus solely on the poem in his hand. He exhaled and started to say the first stanza.

_**"I want to rest** _  
_**I am tired of being tired** _  
_**On a bench, I fell asleep** _  
_**And forget myself”** _  
  
_Was it possible to forget his life, now? Of course not. What if he reversed the time to go back in his humble beginnings as a professor and refused Sobchak's offer. He might be living a quiet life without Surkov or Putin. Alas, humans were not given the luxury to reverse time._  
  
**"A sad sign of childhood**  
**Is now so far away**  
**But the end is close**  
**And my heart is light"**

_He knew that his job was in danger. He, himself, was in danger. He was left all alone with no allies to save him, Vladimir made sure to eradicate all of his potential allies by firing them out of their positions. He's kidding himself. Vladislav Yurevich only works for the one who would pay him with large sums of money. He can't match that. Why was he even calling the man who left him in a blink of an eye for money and reciting a poem to him?_

He does not know. His mind was too tired to think. His voice cracked at the end of the second stanza and hot tears were flowing out of his eyes and it blurred his vision. He hastily wiped the tears with his left arm and he started the third part in a stuttering mess.  
  
_**"I-I-I am thankful to everyone**_  
_**For love, for the struggle**_  
_**The Bethlehem of your souls**_  
_**I will cherish to the end."**_

_He say thanks to the man for opening his eyes, that the world of politics that he was treading on could drain his being. He was happy that he was serving his nation but the underlying sadness and fear at the political power struggles around him was enough to suck the happiness away._

Dmitry composed himself for a minute before proceeding with the last stanza in a somber voice.  
  
_**"Quietly, quietly dreaming**_  
_**Fading away slowly**_  
_**The soul will remember you**_  
_**As it slowly fades away"** _  
  
_He would be forgotten in politics but he would never forget him. As they sing-along to Deep Purple songs, the poetry lessons and the day he had to beg him on bended knee on a rainy day; these memories were locked up in a special place in his heart. He cannot wait for the moment wherein he would be free of being the forgotten prime minister._

"What do you think? Is it good enough? Happy new year, Slava." He ended the call with a lighter feeling in his heart; gingerly, he opened up one of his drawers and slid the slightly crumbled piece of paper inside.

The written version of the poem, like the memories, should be locked up in a place where it would be shielded from prying eyes; he closed the drawer and hid the evidence of his weakness. The bliss in his heart became unbearable, so, he stood up from his seat and walked towards the window to watch the unfolding dawn.  
  
_Would he get a reply? He would not get his hopes up._


End file.
